


Tenebrae

by rubberbird



Category: Amnesia: The Dark Descent
Genre: M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Possessive Behavior, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9310145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubberbird/pseuds/rubberbird
Summary: Alexander entertains some thoughts about Daniel.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Very quick fic I whipped up spontaneously and pretty roughly. I apologise in advance for any grammatical weirdness.

Alexander prides himself on knowing the various roots, ropes and stays that constrict and contort the mind. How often his work seems to take him into the psyches of men these days. How fruitful it had proven to know just which of those constructs needed a soft, exquisitely painful press to finally release a victim's stubbornly held scream.

He knows the fragility, the dire imperfections of the mind. Even _his_ mind, honed and sharpened as it had been over centuries. He knows the conditions that breed a particular brand of passionate, violent, hopeless visions. Tiredness, desperation, gnawing loneliness. A growing, insidious _need_. Like mould. Or a cancer. But knowing the foibles of his own mind doesn't stop what he sees in his mind's eye.

Daniel: dark, fragile eyes gazing up at him, mouth stretched, pink and wet (semen, blood, spit), around Alexander's cock. Another. All fours. Unclothed except for a bed shirt up about his arms, acting as a strait jacket while Alexander sheaths himself inside of Daniel's slick hole (more semen, even more spit, a good helping of oil).

Pushing Daniel's face into the bedsheets, pressing his fingernails into plush, white skin. Skin that's never seen a day of hard labour, prone to freckles and sunburn, soft and downy as a child's. Pulling Daniel's hair, forcing him to look him in the eye as he took him, making him listen to and savour every movement, the soft slap of flesh on flesh, forcing him to relish that slow arch of his back as Alexander finally deigns to hit the spot that makes him beg and beseech.

Alexander's mind turns. Daniel's hands behind his back. Mouth red, eyes bright and damp. Neck and jaw bruised. Straddling Alexander's thighs, wantonly, decidedly astride his cock, forbidden from moving until Alexander bids him. And the torture for Alexander is exquisite. Has to control his breathing so he doesn't lose control. Watching Daniel's brows knit in despair, head tossing, breath heaving, legs trembling. Please. Please. _Please_. The word goes unsaid, because a word or a gesture and Daniel will be laying tied and unsatisfied that night.

And then, when Alexander has had his fill of Daniel's body, while the boy is trembling and sore, Alexander lies him down beside him and wipes away the tears from his eyes, brushes back the hair from his forehead. Hushes and murmurs to him while he sobs. Softly, he tells him of his plans. Daniel's heard it before. Well, this Daniel. This Daniel who he holds and who looks up at him with all of the helpless need and fear of a worshipper towards their God. Alexander tells him of his place by his side, of how he was made in form and mind to be Alexander's. Daniel says nothing, but opens his mouth when Alexander presses a thumb to his lips.

And then he's in his parlour. Watching Daniel drink his tea, or read a volume from his collection, or talking, or writing. Alexander traces over the lines of his body and his mind. Counting those roots, ropes, stays. Running a finger along them. And wondering how many he would need to cut to make Daniel his.


End file.
